


Until Marriage Do Us Part

by KuriNCIS (KuriKoer)



Series: Wake Up Call [11]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Divorce, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKoer/pseuds/KuriNCIS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friends don’t let friends play matchmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Marriage Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> _Quote, Black Water (2x11):_  
>  Palmer: Did you meet any of his wives?  
> Ducky: I introduced him to the last one.  
> Palmer: Really? What went wrong?  
> Ducky: Well, it's difficult to say, Mr. Palmer. She doesn't talk to me anymore. 

He was in bed with Ducky when the man rolled over, reached into the bedside drawer, took out a piece of paper, and said amicably, "There's a very nice woman I'd like you to meet."

Gibbs straightened up, leaning on his elbow. "You fixing me up?"

"She's lovely, Jethro," Ducky said with the subdued bounce he always had when advancing a project. "Smart, vivacious... beautiful," he added.

Gibbs looked from his friend's excited expression down to his bare chest, the line of his waist and hip, and to his soft cock, which was in Gibbs' mouth earlier in the evening. He looked back up again. "You're fixing me up with a woman.... _now_?"

He dropped back on the pillow, laughing quietly to himself.

"You've had a rough time, I know," Ducky said, compassionate, "but it's time to get back on that horse, Jethro."

Gibbs didn't want to think about his last divorce. It hurt even more than the one before; he actually still carried a scar from a flying saucer. Her grandmother's tea set, no less.

"Who knows, this could be the one," Ducky wheedled.

Gibbs chuckled, pulling his friend by the arm to lie on top of him. He kissed Ducky for long minutes, distracting him from his sales pitch. He ran his fingers through the long hair on the back of Ducky's head; as always, something inside him whispered, 'time for a cut'. As always, he said nothing, only smiled against the lips tasting his.

"You know, we won't be able to do this if I start seeing another woman," he told Ducky honestly.

"Of course not!" Ducky was appalled at the suggestion. He had a very gentlemanly code about their fucking, which always amused Gibbs; all intimate connection between them was put on hold while either of them dated. They would be nothing more than friends and colleagues for long periods of time, and he never cheated on a wife; then there would be a breakup, messy or mousy, or a divorce in the more extreme cases, and Ducky would keep his distance for a few months before he decided to initiate, again, what they had before. Gibbs always sat back and let Ducky pick the time.

And Ducky never held back on ignoring his friend when an attractive woman caught his own interest. He definitely never exhibited any bitterness or regret when Gibbs found someone, was always sincerely happy for his friend, but until now, he'd never actively tried to play matchmaker.

"Why now?", Gibbs had to ask.

"She's very much your type," Ducky said, with a secret, giddy smile, still leaning over him. "Doesn't play golf," he added helpfully. Gibbs rubbed the side of his head.

"I'm not sure it's such a good idea," he said.

 

-=-

 

"I'm sorry," Ducky said, carefully maneuvering the needle. Gibbs winced.

"Well, it was good while it lasted," he grinded. The stitches pulled on his scalp.

Ducky paused. "Was it?", he asked, surprised.

"No, Duck, it wasn't!" Gibbs snapped impatiently. He tried to shove down the memories of their time together, only a year ago, as newlyweds. It _was_ good. It just didn't stay that way.

"She, um, I saw her when I arrived at work this morning," Ducky started, awkward.

"Yeah? She say anything to you?", Gibbs growled. "'Cause she sure as hell didn't talk much at _me_."

Ducky chuckled, tying up the thread. "Actually, she sped by in her car, giving me the evil eye." He snipped the edges, examining his handiwork critically. "I thought for a moment she was going to run me over."

Gibbs couldn't help but smile at that, too. "You'll always be the guy who introduced her to her hellish ex-husband, you know that."

"I took my risks," Ducky replied, unflappable. He patted Gibbs' head. "There you are. Good as new."

"It's been through too much to ever be good as new," Gibbs muttered, mood foul again. Ducky refused to let him have a drink until he was entirely cleared of all suspicion of concussion.

"Was that a metaphorical, or a medical observation?", Ducky inquired gently. He sat down beside his friend.

"I'm never getting married again, Duck," Gibbs mumbled. He stared at his hands. "I should've figured that one out," he pretended to count on his fingers, "three wives ago."

Ducky smiled sadly. "Don't be foolish. You'll find someone."

"Maybe," Gibbs shrugged. He glanced at the ME. "But even if I do, what makes you think it'll work?"

Ducky patted him on the back, getting up on his feet again. "It will. Someone will come along who'll fit like a glove." He snapped the latex off his fingers.

Gibbs allowed himself one more humorless smile. "I think I missed that boat, Duck," he said.

"Nonsense," Ducky scoffed. "Now, off you go."

Gibbs did. He stood in the elevator, staring up at the light, until the door dinged for his floor; and then he stalked to his desk, glaring at anyone who even glanced at him, whether with worry at the stitches and congealed blood, or with pity at the scene in the parking lot, or with simple, open curiosity. He worked all through the day and deep into the night.

When the office was almost empty, save for Jerry the janitor on the far end of the floor, he leaned over and unlocked the bottom drawer. There was a pair of tiny, hand-knit gloves there, tied together in a string, pink and white and red and green; Christmas and her favorite colors.

He stared at them for a long while.

 

-=-

 

A few months later, Ducky knocked on his door. Or, to be exact, on the banister, standing at the top of the stairs to the basement. Gibbs looked up, pausing in his work.

"I brought a bottle of wine," Ducky said. Gibbs mumbled something noncommittal, and put the hammer down. "And four bottles of beer," Ducky added.

That brought a wider smile. Gibbs cleared his workbench under Ducky's silent gaze, and when everything was in place, he started up the stairs, joining his friend. They headed into the house.

"The other two bottles were used to marinate the chicken I also brought," Ducky continued as if he'd never stopped. Gibbs grinned at that. "If you have potatoes, we can throw a few into the fireplace. They were lovely the last time."

They were crispy black on the outside, soft inside, yellow and buttery, Gibbs remembered. He nodded, approving of the plan whole-heartedly. A pot wrapped in a towel waited on the dinner table.

"Smells good," he commented.

"I should like to hope so," Ducky huffed, affronted. "I used fresh thyme and parsley. The secret of the batter is...."

"Ducky..."

The impatient sigh and the interruption garnered no reproach. Instead Ducky glanced sideways at him, falling silent. Gibbs strode across the few feet between them and took the other man's face in his hands, kissing him hard.

The kiss was returned immediately, and Ducky's relief was palpable, the tension flitting between Gibbs' fingers and falling away from them. He hummed in satisfaction, pushing Ducky's jacket from his shoulders.

Ducky nudged him away gently. "After dinner?" He smiled awkwardly. "I wouldn't ask, but I'm famished. This chicken took over an hour to cook and I haven't had a bite since..."

Gibbs stopped him with a finger on his lips, and grinned back. "I'm starving."

Ducky returned the smile. "Then let's start on the potatoes, dear boy."

Half an hour later, Gibbs was poking the foil-wrapped potatoes, like large silver eggs between the flames. Ducky had taken out the plates and set the table, with more attention to detail than Gibbs had bothered with in months. He sat on the sheet-covered couch, patting the pillow tucked on one side of it, and looked around him at the humble decor of the living room.

"I like what you've done with the place," he commented.

"She took most of what the one before her left behind," Gibbs mumbled.

"You'll rebuild it all again, I'm sure," Ducky said, encouraging. "It's a chance to put your mark on the house."

"My mark on the house is what drove them away in the first place," Gibbs said, then glanced back. "Guess I shoulda known."

Ducky made a motion as if to get up and go to him, but remained on the couch. "I've brought some green salad, too," he offered. "You are eating well, aren't you?"

Gibbs chuckled and stood up, stretching his back. "You know my cholesterol levels."

Ducky gave him a small smile. "Yes, I do."

They ate in near-silence, Ducky uncharacteristically reluctant to entertain his companion with tales and anecdotes. They swapped a few words about the current case, about the novelty of immersing a uniform in a solution that, when brought in touch with the salts in human sweat, would turn to poison. Ducky didn't take up the opportunity to bring up Heracles, to Gibbs' surprise. It was obvious the man's mind was elsewhere. Towards the end of the meal he spoke suddenly.

"I've arranged for someone to be with Mother until tomorrow.”

Gibbs didn't reply, taking another bite to fill his mouth. Ducky gazed down at his plate. Gibbs finished his mouthful and swallowed.

"I don't have anything for breakfast," he grumbled, then glanced at Ducky. "We can go out in the morning and buy danishes."

Ducky understood, and began smiling. "There's a little place not far from here that makes a delicious apple crumble," he noted.

"We could drive there," Gibbs agreed. He put his fork down.

"Upstairs?", Ducky inquired, grinning.

Gibbs shook his head. "I haven't slept upstairs in a while," he said, voice low.

Ducky nodded, compassionate. "The downstairs bedroom will have to do, then."

It was a narrow bed, but it was wide enough for their purposes, and the wall was good support for Gibbs' leg. Ducky moaned on top of him, closing his eyes when he eased into Gibbs' tight, tense body.

Gibbs exhaled, his own eyes half-closed. "I missed this."

Ducky chuckled. Gibbs knew the other man thought he meant the act, and not the person performing it. At least the doctor was too polite to ask directly. It was another thing he didn't want to think about; things he never asked his wives to do, unless they suggested it first.

But that was one of his problems all along, wasn't it. Being in bed with one woman, one person, and remembering another. It was a bad habit and one he could kick. Gibbs kept his eyes open through sheer will, and brought Ducky's mouth to his. They kissed, with Ducky motionless inside him, until he couldn't take it anymore.

He bounced his heel on Ducky's backside a couple of times, nudging him to move.

"I'm not a horse, you know," Ducky gritted through a grin, "you can just ask."

"Fuck me," Gibbs said simply, and Ducky, just as simply, did.

 

-=-

 

He slept on the couch. In the morning, padding quietly to the kitchen, he found a forgotten can of peaches in the back of a cabinet. It wasn’t long after that it turned out Ducky could improvise a grand breakfast out of nothing as well as he could create an impromptu tourniquet in the field.

But they still drove to the place with the apple crumble.


End file.
